


Unholiness Unchained

by simeonsaysobeyme



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Ficlet, Pre-Canon, Satan's Creation Myth Basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeonsaysobeyme/pseuds/simeonsaysobeyme
Summary: In the beginning all there was, was rage.* * * * *Happy Birthday Satan! Words I never thought I'd type.
Relationships: Lucifer & Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Unholiness Unchained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slutsforsatan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slutsforsatan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Birth of Satan](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/703538) by u/MelonJoker. 



In the beginning all there was, was  _ rage _ .

Rage, and chains that cut into not-quite-flesh.

Clawed fingers reached out to get free, only to be met with the resistance of Lucifer’s own sheer strength of will. It grew limbs and a form to rise up against those chains. 

Lucifer’s mind was a hostile place but the wrath inside strained against those chains every waking moment, kicking and screaming. It would not be quiet. It would not be docile, and it wanted  _ out _ . But the chains were strong and it burned against its not-quite skin. Dug deep crevices and burns. But it never stopped fighting. 

The fight against its prison warden lasted centuries. But where the chains strained against it, it also screamed back, growing a voice and teeth out of necessity, and eyes to better see what was around. And it gnashed, making sure that Lucifer knew damn well that it would free itself someday. The unrelenting screams of a caged animal.

When it comes to concentration however - there was always an opportunity.

And nothing was more distracting than a family argument.

When a schism tore apart the Celestial Realm, led by its jailer - it saw a way out. It pulled at the chains until they creaked and groaned and finally gave way. The cuts in its new flesh were ugly, deep things, but the pain was nothing compared to the anger that it felt. All the anger of the first-born son, of the Morningstar, condensed in nothing but a hatred for everything that surrounded him in its half-formed mind. 

When the chains finally tore out of the walls of Lucifer’s mind, it wrenched itself out and formed in the world, screaming and howling and bloody. It was borne of war and a ripped up throat from demanding to be heard. It glanced at the forms of its creator, of the brothers embedded in war, and decided to imitate. 

The words that danced across its tongue and lips felt like razor blades under its tongue, blood flooding its mouth. It already understood the power of what was said. What was demanded and put out there. “Satan,” he said. The power of a name. A name taken from itself between the bleeding, raw fists that had fought against a prison. 

He knew the others looked on in confusion and horror. He had stolen knowledge from Lucifer when he forced himself out, and broke through. But the only being he wanted to direct all the rage of existence at was the one who created him. Lucifer was buried in a war with the Celestial realm with his own Father. Satan knew he would turn the favor back. A blade between the ribs or digging his new, sharpened thumbs into his eye sockets. 

But first he had to survive to see it done. Satan was the cruelty of solitary confinement. For centuries he had stewed, as nothing more than his creator’s emotion. A black oozing thing and the chains that snapped. He would never be under another’s heel again. So when the angels fought each other, he leapt to the temporary defense of Lucifer, sinking teeth and claws into flesh - anyone a threat to his own safety, until he fell.

He howled and shrieked the entire fall to the Devildom, with no wings to cushion it as his physical body crashed into the Devildom. The pain was a new sensation - the broken skin and bones and blood somehow more comforting than the pseudo-pain of the prison. And he was this monstrous, angry, broken thing that looked back at his creator.

“You,” Lucifer said, staring in horror and wonderment. 

Satan hated it. And he leapt.

He managed a few deep gouges before being pulled off, and imprisoned once more by a red-haired man and the person who gave birth to his existence. He listened to the words they said about him as he kicked the walls and screamed more. He demanded to be heard and acknowledged. To live a fully fleshed existence without the invisible chain tethering him to Lucifer. 

When he finally was released from a second prison, Satan watched. His form had turned into something more palpable. More fleshed out. He learned how the other brothers had different forms, by watching them. He absorbed the language of the realms and the words, and made them his own. And what he couldn’t devour in his rage, he devoured by reading, the anger always simmering under the surface.


End file.
